


Resurrection

by Crux01



Category: Homeland
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5668882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crux01/pseuds/Crux01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All this talk on Twitter, LJ and tumblr about bright lights, darkness, God and resurrection, got me to thinking......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> The latest in my intermittent series, which started with Lost and Found, of plots for those asshole HL writers to consider to get us out of this hellhole they have condemned us to……
> 
> Admittedly this one is a touch problematic and may get panned by the critics but blame Gan$a he introduced the goddamn light in the first place!
> 
> For Peter Quinn lovers everywhere - keep the faith sisters!

Carrie closed the curtains and moved purposefully towards the bed. She believed what she was about to do was what Quinn would have wanted and that gave her the strength to carry it through. She didn't allow herself to think on what would happen after. This, her only gift to him, was what was important……

 

************************************************************************************************

 

'Peter Quinn, Assassin'

That was what the file was entitled. 

To be honest I didn't think it would take too long. I mean I've processed a few assassins in my time and St Peter normally gives 'em short shrift. (Everybody knows the sixth commandment right and an assassin fails it every time, like by definition.) So I wasn't expecting it to take very long and I certainly wasn't expecting to see what I saw. St P said he's seen it a couple of times. (But let's be honest, he's been around so long, he must have seen everything at least once.)

But I'm getting ahead of things here; better introduce myself before I get too far into the story. I am Ezekiel, the tenth of the name and I am a scribe. It's not an onerous job because everything normally goes to plan. St P isn't up to date with the world and he likes to keep somebody who lived at around the same time as those who are being judged to take notes, to translate and iron out any misunderstandings which can arise. That's where I come in.

As I said St P being the guardian of the gates has done this processing gig so many times he could do it with his eyes closed and hands tied behind his back and still deliver. But sometimes some thing a little out of the ordinary happens and that's the second reason why I'm here, to catch it, to keep it for posterity. I don't know if anybody will ever come back and read this in the future but St P likes for there to be an audit trail, just in case. Which is why he asked me to write up what happened today, cos, like I said, it's never happened to me before......

So this guy comes in; the usual bleary disbelief in his eyes. He's dressed all in black which is kind of jarring because everything up here tends to be white, except for the pearly gates; they're gold. (No pearls in sight, so no idea why they aren't called the golden gates except then they might get confused with the bridge in SF, although they were here long before that, obviously!). He's kind of good looking, this new guy, ice blue eyes, sheer cheek bones, tall and pretty, strong and athletic, nice hair, precise with a kind of quiet authority. He has the form he took while he inhabited his body cos he doesn't understand about the rules up here yet, how we can chose what we look like etc which leads to everybody being pretty gorgeous but that won't matter to him cos, for a mortal form, he's pretty stunning just as he is.(Not that that will help him any; St P's not influenced by anything like that, he sticks straight to the rules, always.)

"Is your name Peter Quinn?" St P asks.

The new guy fixes him with a cold stare. "That's my legal name," he says.

(Oops, that's not a good start. If there's one thing that winds St P up big time, it's arrogant smart asses trying to bend the rules.)

"You know why you are here?" St P chooses to ignore the sassy comment and continues with his regulation lines.

This Quinn guy, he gulps but he's keeping it pretty cool. "Not really," he admits, his eyes narrowing as he glances around the place. (Looking for a way out? Hard luck mister, there is no way out of this. This is judgement day!) St P tells him just what is going on and his eyes widen.

"So all that shit was true?" he asks.

St P nods sternly, got to hand it to him; he is a master at this, just right amount of solemn. (As long as he doesn't start with the jokes.)

"Fuck me!" Quinn mutters.

St P scowls. "This is a sacred place, you should think before you defile its sanctity by the use of such inappropriate language!"

Quinn ducks his head and has the decency to look suitably culpable. (Gotta feel for these failed Catholics, they love a guilt trip.) "Sorry," he breathes. "Guess that’s more than half my vocabulary out of bounds then." He says with a very attractive but self-effacing half smile.

St P shakes his head in disgust. (Not one for humour, unless it's his own, our St Peter!)

I'm scrolling through the file on my iPad, thinking there's really not much hope, I have rarely seen so much murder and destruction in one man's lifetime and I can see the guy looking at me. And I think, 'No don't say it please', cos St P, he has this joke that he always uses and it wasn't funny the first time. But no, this Peter Quinn has to ask incredulously "You have Apple in heaven?"

And St P retorts with, "Adam wasn't the only one to be tempted." (It's just not funny, is it?) Anyway the saintly one goes on to explain, "Since Mr Jobs came up here he has revitalised the whole of our IT system."

Quinn rolls his eyes but says nothing, clearly still unsure as to whether this is really happening. (Suck it up son, this is real!)

St P reads through the file, says "Orphan, Children's Home, Baltimore, CIA at sixteen.... You really didn't have much of a chance did you?"

"The fu...." Quinn stops himself just in time and instead says, "Where did you get that from? I'm a Philly boy, Hill School, Harvard!" There's a certain amount of pride mixed with hurt in his voice.

St P looks a little puzzled. It happens sometimes. (I mean, we have over 7 billion files live at any one time, even with Mr Jobs improvements stuff is gonna get misfiled and in the wrong place isn't it? Still in this case I would shut up if I was him - orphan given up to the CIA at sixteen, is certainly a victim and will get him the sympathy vote. Whereas, well educated, middle class boy with autonomy who chose a career of killing? Well, it don't look good, does it?)

"Still you agree you had a Catholic upbringing?" Quinn nods as St P continues, "Which although you appear to have renounced, gave you the chance to make the right choices." He fixes Quinn with his unrelenting stare. "Which you clearly did not. A guy that kills bad guys is not much of an excuse, is it?"

Quinn lets out his breath, chews his lip nervously. There's a muscle on the side of his jaw which flexes, kinda cute. "It's all I have," he replies finally. "I thought I was doing the right thing, at least in the beginning."

He's still pretty cool and brutally honest, I have to say, but it won't last, I know. No matter how hard they think they are, when they come to understand just what is at stake here, their immortal soul and that's forever; a mighty long time, even the hardest of them start to lose it big time.

"Well, we are here to add up your score," St P intones. "You were certainly brave, many men would not have endured such a messy, prolonged death with quite the panache that you did."

"I fuc....screwed … messed up. Underestimated my enemy. I take full responsibility for it." Quinn says bravely. “I should have done better.”

St P eyes him for a long time. "We had an associate of yours here last week, foiled a terrorist attack on a Berlin train station." 

Quinn stiffens eyes bright, suddenly concerned. "This associate, it wasn't...." he begins sounding worried. 

St P cuts him off. "I believe that while you were his powerless captive you had a part in persuading him that terrorism was not the right way. We will of course take that into consideration. Qasim, I think the name was, if I remember correctly."

"Qasim?" Quinn repeats, licks his lips, recognition and something else, relief maybe, in his eyes. "But he was Muslim."

St P gestures dismissively. "We have an On Call deal with Allah, we cover for him during Islamic festivals then he covers for us at Easter and Christmas; works pretty well. Between you and me all the good people finish up in the same place in the end anyway!" 

"Is Qasim....?"

St P sniffs. "I believe he's entertaining seventy two virgins as we speak."

Quinn sighs. "Thank God!" He appears genuinely relieved and I start to feel a little impressed by this guy. (Still doesn't do to get too attached cos there's only one place he's gonna end up with all his form.)

"It's a shame you didn't do just that, more often." St P looks back to the file. "And tenacious, you could have died a number of times but you just kept hanging on, until.......interesting. I guess you'll earn a few points with that but it doesn't get past the main problem. Do you know how many men you killed?"

Quinn gulps again, his Adam's apple bouncing nervously in his throat. "No," he answers, his voice raw. "I was good at it. But the thing is there hasn't been a day in these last ten years when I haven't regretted it. I have tried to stop. Lord knows I have."

"Yes, He most certainly does," St P snaps.

He's got style, this Quinn. Most men would be on their knees by now, clutching at St P, pleading with him, coming out with all sorts of nonsense to justify the unjustifiable. I wonder if he truly understands what is happening here. I look up to regard him again and our eyes meet. I see anxiety there but it is controlled, buttoned down as if he has tasted its like before and learnt to overcome it; he knows exactly what's going on, I have no doubt, so it's nice to see somebody with the courage to face his judgement, doesn't happen very often, (especially when they have a list like his)!

Suddenly there's a hiss and a bang and the overwhelming tart smell of sulphur fills the air. A debonair figure dressed in a black pin striped suit, black hair slicked back and beard perfectly trimmed, looks like a banker, stands beside us. At first glance he is attractively elegant but he can't hide the slithers of coal beneath his fingernails, the whisks of black smoke that drift about his shoulders and of course that awful smell.

"He's mine!" The new arrival snarls in thinly controlled fury. "Why are you indulging yourself in this farce, old man? Look at his kill count! How can there be any doubt." As he speaks he unfurls a scroll, black writing on red paper, wrinkled and ripped, he thrusts it aggressively towards St P.

St P shakes his head. "Still not got the IT sorted yet, Lucifer?" he inquires, eyes twinkling innocently.

(Because that is exactly who this is; the devil, Satan, Mr 666 himself. I've seen him before. He pops up quite regularly in a ferocious fury claiming one soul or another. He knows the rules as well as we do but he doesn't keep to them. Why should he? He is the antichrist after all. I try not to let him intimidate me but, man, he has got one hell of a temper and when he turns his fiery eyes onto you, you can really feel the heat of those furnaces.)

"Cut the crap!" the Beelzebub snarls. "Give him to me." He rushes forward and Quinn takes a step away, his eyes now flashing with worry.

St P snorts dismissively. "You know the rules as well as I: Due process must be followed. Everyone has a chance to argue their case." He shakes his head. "You really need to learn to be patient."

"Look at this!" Old Lou is lividly waving the paper in St P's face. "He can't even remember how many lives he's taken. His soul is black as night. Give him to me!"

"You know that we have been forced to lower our standards recently,” St P argues back. (It wasn't very recent really but about 300 years ago, just as the industrial revolution was beginning to rock and religion wasn't quite as all-encompassing as it once had been. The Big Guy took the executive decision that as long as people lived a good life and roughly stuck to the commandments, it wasn't necessary for them to go to church like every Sunday or spout religious dogma continually for them to get a free pass into the Kingdom of Heaven. Being a good person and doing good things became more valued, more important. Before my time, but most old timers seem to agree with the decision and say it brought a whole new, more exciting diverse dynamic to the place. On a personal note I have to say I am so relieved he made the decision, know what I mean?)

Anyway Old Lou is absolutely rabid with rage, St P is trying to ignore him so he can get on and finish the judgement, I'm recording it all and Peter Quinn? He's gone rather pale. I can see his hands shaking but, fair play to him, he remains standing, brave and silent, waiting for his fate to be pronounced.

"He even wrote it in his farewell note," the Devil shrieks. "And I quote, 'I wanted the darkness, I fucking asked for it'," he beams triumphantly. "Are these not your own words, in your own hand?"

Regardless of the foreboding figure before him, Quinn steps angrily forward. "Where the fuck did you get that?" He is now rattled, breathing hard and looking like a true, dangerous, badass assassin.

"Language, please!" St P takes a deep breath. 

"It's all in your file, boy. I can see into your soul!" Satan hisses back.

And they are only inches apart now staring threateningly at each other. (Kudos to Quinn, there's not many people who would have the guts to dare a staring match with the Lord of Chaos, but he is giving as good as he gets - those blue eyes really are lethal as he glares courageously into the pits of hell.) Satan (big bully that he is) seems on the verge of retreating.

"Gentlemen please!" St P cuts in. "Is what he says true?" he asks.

Quinn hesitates, steps away, takes a long look around the room, his face frowning and confused. "It was," he admits. "But I wrote that letter over two years ago. Things changed."

"In what way?" St P asks, signalling to the Devil to be quiet.

"I went to Syria. I saw a lot of bad stuff. And then in Berlin, I thought it was over. I tried to end it." He stops again. 

"Suicide!" snorts Satan. "I told you he was one of mine."

"You saw how I suffered 'with panache' as you put it." Quinn gulps; his wide cobalt eyes the only colour in this bleached environment. "And through it all I came to realise that I didn't want it. Not the darkness. Not at all." His head drops as he looks self consciously at his feet, mouth firmly shut.

"Is that all you've got, boy?" Satan sneers. "Too little, too late!"

"Well...." St P begins but doesn't get any further because at that moment there is a blinding flash of light, beautifully harmonious music and an overwhelming sense of peace. (You guessed it the Big Guy himself has only gone and turned up! To say I'm shocked is an understatement, I mean this is one busy guy, and he doesn't normally make personal appearances at a processing, not a run of the mill one anyway.)

"Shit!" Satan sniffs. "This is all I need."

I've never seen God before, and I don't actually see him now. It more a feeling of a presence, of peace and absolute power all encompassed in the brightest of bright lights. I throw a glance over to Quinn, he's gulping madly and looking paper pale and pretty sick.

"My Lord," St P bows his head, ever the stickler for protocol. And I, given the hint, do exactly the same.

It's a deeply, resonant voice, massaging my eardrums when it comes. (Well it would be wouldn't it?) "St Peter," he says. "I wish to participate in this processing."

"Of course, My Lord."

"For Hades sake," the Devil curses. "He's an assassin. He must be mine."

"You know only I know the true nature and consequence of mortals' actions." The Lord's voice ripples like a joyous mountain stream but you can feel the force of the waterfall just beneath the surface.

Satan shakes his head, stands, unafraid. How many times as he argued with the Lord? It gives him a sort of arrogant confidence lacking in the rest of us. "And you know the way to me is paved with good intentions!" he snaps back.

The light turns to focus entirely on Quinn. He blinks and tries to stand bravely but I can see the complete terror flashing in his eyes. "Do you know of unconditional love?" The Big Guy asks.

Quinn tries to speak but only a squeak comes out. He clears his throat, glances wildly around but he's not getting any help, he has to face this on his own, so he valiantly clears his throat and says, "Eh pardon? Eh Sir?" 

"Unconditional love." It is the voice of a patient teacher, calming and instructive. "It is known as affection without any limitations, it can also be love without conditions. This term is sometimes associated with other terms such as true altruism, or complete love." 

Satan sniggers. "Been reading the dictionary again? Lord, you really need to get a hobby!"

God ignores him and continues, "Each one of my children has a certain way of describing unconditional love, but most of you will agree that it is that type of love which has no bounds and is unchanging. Have you felt it?"

"I....." Quinn hesitates, unable to bear the intensity of the light, his eyes are flashing around the room desperately as he bites his lip fretfully.

"Now is not the time to be shy, my son. Have you?"

Still Quinn pauses until finally, "I only wanted to keep her safe," he mumbles having obvious difficulty in revealing his feelings, even when his soul depends on it.

"And what did you expect in return?” the Lord asks. “Truthfully,"

Quinn looks up, into the light, his eyes watery, voice raw. "Nothing," he says simply.

"Bullshit!" The Devil curses, the black smoke that has hung about his shoulders seems to be suddenly thicker and he is a mass of barely controlled frustration. 

(Unconditional love... Wow, that's a game changer, if you can prove that, and we all know that nobody can speak falsely when bathed in the light of the Lord, you have got it made.)

St P lets out a long breath.

The Lord continues, "You loved her enough to suffer for her with no preconditions, no thought of your own doom."

Quinn nods his head slowly. "But I did evil things," he says.

(Easy lad, I think; don’t talk yourself out of this. Maybe, just maybe......)

"You told yourself you had chosen the darkness, made yourself believe it was all you had, but in fact, my son, you died trying to save her, and there’s nothing that denotes true unconditional love more, no greater evidence that the light still survives and shines in your soul."

"Not this squishy bullshit about good deeds being enough to supersede bad," Satan snarls but he's got the look of a defeated man as his anger seems to be burning itself out. (Fair play he's not one to flog a dead horse and he knows there's another soul coming right up for him to play for.)

"So what happens now?" Quinn asks.

Dreading the answer, I add up the score quickly, pass it on to St P. "Although unconditional love scores highly, it's not enough," he pronounces grimly.

The Devil perks up at that; an evil smile twisting his lips and his awful laugh crackling the air. He really is the ultimate caricature of a villain. (But then I suppose he would have to be, wouldn't he?)

Quinn looks resigned, head bowed again. And, despite myself I really feel for him. He has carried himself with great dignity throughout this and really won me over. (The stuff in his file about how he continually saved that crazy chick Carrie Mathison and she seemed consistently unable to reciprocate his feelings but he carried on regardless, really looks like unconditional love to me but the computer is always correct, no?)

Well maybe not because the Main Man he says, "I overrule!" (Which of course he can do, cos he is the boss, right?)

Satan spits in fury, his whole body shuddering with rage but he knows better than to say anything at this point.

"That is your right, My Lord," St P says sagely. "What do you require us to do?"

The celestial light twinkles and then the voice comes again. "He is not yet bound for hell but I cannot allow him into heaven and yet he has real potential. Return him to his mortal form."

(I almost dropped my iPad. Return him? That never happens. The man is dead already, he's standing at the pearly gates, a decision has to be made! But no, God has spoken and he's the guy that performs miracles so what can you do but follow his instructions, right?)

The light intensifies and I have to close my eyes to stop my retinas from burning and when I open them again God is gone, St P is shaking his head slowly and telling me to write this up, Satan is sidling away and moaning that it isn't fair, like a little kid, and Peter Quinn? He is gone, back to where he came from. 

And that's basically what happened. Like I said apparently it has occurred before but not very often and only in very specific cases. (And I'm kinda proud I bore witness to it and also kinda thrilled that Peter Quinn got a second chance, although if he wants any advice from me, I'd tell him to stay away from that Carrie chick!)

 

***************************************************************************************************

 

……..Carrie closed the curtains and moved purposefully towards the bed. She believed what she was about to do was what Quinn would have wanted and that gave her the strength to carry it through. She didn't allow herself to think of what would happen after. This, her only gift to him, was what was important.

But as she bent towards him a blaze of blinding light flashed into the room and bathed his beautiful face in a celestial glow. She pulled back, shocked and surprised and then as the light faded she could not believe what she saw. Quinn's eyes opened and his chest began to rise once more. Her mouth half smiled of its own accord as she gazed down at him, stunned by this turn of events, his eyes fought to focus on her. 

She realised he was trying to talk and knelt closer to him to hear. His voice was weak and croaky but she definitely heard his words and could not contain the joy that flowed through her.

"What the fuck just happened, Carrie?" he whispered hoarsely.

**Author's Note:**

> "....And far away in some recess  
> The Lord and the Devil are now playing chess  
> The devil still cheats and wins more souls  
> And as for the Lord - he's just doing his best"  
> Spanish Train  
> Chris de Burgh


End file.
